


the violin is a very hard instrument

by enlaurement24



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Competence Kink, Fluff and Humor, Grinding, Heavy Petting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, davie is mentioned in here more than i am comfortable with, pp hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25021051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enlaurement24/pseuds/enlaurement24
Summary: And then the bass is in Brett's lap. Eddy's vision colors pink, a darker tint.Brett's shirt is pushed up on one side and he looks directly to Eddy's lap with a satisfied little grin, then up, dragging over his chest, and neck, and mouth, it feels like the pads of his fingers petting him half mean.'I'm going to touch you now.'(Brett playing Pag 24 on the bass is nicer than Eddy expects. They only need 40 hours.)
Relationships: Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 33
Kudos: 110





	the violin is a very hard instrument

Eddy should have probably seen it coming.

It still hits him from the side, as if he's never seen Brett play any other string instrument before, except his violin. Which is entirely dumb, because he has, they've got a number of videos to back that up and it's not like Eddy dares forget those two weeks in highschool that Brett had spent learning guitar in order to woe their science teacher.

Eddy can't remember for the life of him, looking at Brett's hands then, at his straining fingers, and wanting them pushed down his throat far enough that he can just let go, can just nicely choke on them. Fuck.

It's not really the instrument, he doesn't want to ram Davie into the bed for fuck's sake, but it had been so, so unfairly hard when Brett had propped up his leg on a chair, had placed the bass on his thigh. Something had clicked, whiplash inducing. A shorter, skinnier Brett using the same trick to hold his violin up because his shoulder rest was in another room. This Brett that he has now, the same jeans, the same thigh over Eddy's shoulder because he could absolutely not _wait_.

But Eddy's thought, maybe once it's enough. Maybe Brett had laughed at him enough when he'd noticed Eddy's tight jaw behind the camera. Maybe he's too settled in his skin to develop a whole thing for this, dumb, dumb sight that is Brett deadpan, holding a bass too high out of muscle memory, over his thigh, tight against his chest, nails catching on the strings, soft mouth pushed out on a pout. 

He's not. Eddy's older now maybe, but Brett is new, this need that cuts. 

It's fine, it's definitely fine for the first bit, Eddy tries hard not to laugh at Davie's humor, barely stops himself from flushing red when Brett picks up on the _pp_ joke. Edges him on, because he likes it better coming from that mouth. There's fluttering in his chest, complicated, that Brett's 'both sexy' means more, that he's the only one to know, a sharp knee poking the side of Eddy's thigh, once, twice, again. 

He tries not to look, but in his periphery, on Brett's side, it's the bass settled against the wall. If Eddy doesn't focus, all that his brain decides to replay is how Brett's hand will close on the fretboard, how his arm will strain to pick it up, nails whitening gradually from pressure. If he's sentenced to this, Eddy thinks, at least he'll go down fighting. 

He knows it's coming, the challenge, and he pauses the video early on an excess of excitement, says 'Easy! I don't even need to sightread' and feels Brett's surprise to his right. He must've thought they'd cut, for Eddy to practice it at least once. 

It's barely a few notes, nothing to flex exactly, but Eddy actually tries. He looks at Brett through the camera just before he's done, still nicely in tune, half smiles at his dumb dance. They touch, Brett wiggling his socked toes until they're under Eddy's foot. Supportive, but it throws him off, anticipation growing in his chest, and he renames Davie504 to Davie24.

And then the bass is in Brett's lap. Eddy's vision colors pink, a darker tint. 

He doesn't dare move his legs anymore, with how scratchy his jeans suddenly feel over his skin, unexplained sweat forming behind his knees, and Brett barely misses smacking him in the face with the headstock, distance suspiciously deliberate. Eddy pushes down his reflex to flinch, looks his headstrong dumbass in the eye with control he doesn't actually have. There's tension building tighter down his back than in the string insertion by his ear.

Brett's hands are too small. His left wrist twists awkwardly, tendons popping out with effort as he reaches his fourth finger, doesn't press down hard enough, only tenses up further, pushes intently on the body with his forearm and it digs into his chest. 

Eddy's face slowly relaxes out of a smile. He fucking knows how it feels when the muscle there gives under his fingers, how it jumps involuntarily on his tongue when Brett allows himself open as he comes. There's no escape, no wiggle room, so Eddy eases into this stickiness inching its way up his thigh. Might as well enjoy it maybe, and it's the wrong thing to think, because something along his vertebrae breaks. Slowly, it cuts off his breathing, the strength of his craving, like he's seeing more, the hair on his arms standing up under his sleeves. Too much, but Brett's mouth is familiar, and known. 

Half open, half pouting in concentration. Lower lip lax, pink and chapped, turning abruptly red on the inside. That spot he keeps chewing. It would be so easy to reach out and wedge his thumb between Brett's lip and his teeth, to feel out his way across his cheek, maybe stretch it out a little. 

His body carries him through the haze of it, laughs in the right places, keeps him safe, keeps his face relaxed and open and amused. Brett could be good at this, if he wanted, it's not news that Eddy has a kink for proficiency. He's still vaguely ashamed that he's behaving like every other 16 year old girl in a bad film, but at least Brett would make a nice main character if nothing else. 

Eddy is so proud of his brain keeping it together enough to come up with 'Mate, check!' that he flinches when Brett's fingers fall away from the fretboard to land softly, just his knuckles, high on Eddy's thigh. He's probably turned off the camera already. 

Probably. 

It comes up again, that first time, after the Tchaikovsky, how Brett had dragged the back of his hand over Eddy's stomach, how his knuckles had dug in, turning in at the last second and hooking in his jeans, thumb resting over the button, patient. New. Eddy doesn't remember much after that, but Brett had asked _did I play well?_ and Eddy had gone down to his knees, had made embarrassing noises into his hip, might have said nothing but _yes, please, yesyesyes_ and _let me_. He'd kept his hand wrapped around the back of Brett's thigh. 

At least the bass is gone now, so that Eddy can lie to himself that his thirst only limits to violin proficiency. Brett's shirt is pushed up on one side and he looks directly to Eddy's lap with a satisfied little grin, then up, dragging over his chest, and neck, and mouth, it feels like the pads of his fingers petting him half mean. 

'I'm going to touch you now.'

It burns reddish orange, when he does, the heel of his palm digging in at random over his obvious boner, painful pressure, like he might actually try hurting Eddy. His legs come up, a leftover of wanting to get away from it, of covering himself, of shame, then fall open, shaking, and his hips stutter up uselessly because there's no _space_ , he can't even push up into it. Brett has him pinned. Eddy trusts him not to let go. 

Brett stretches over him from the side, easy, filling the soft spaces between Eddy's ribs with his own, almost tickles him with how the bones roll over each other, and his shaky breath hits Eddy's neck first, before he nuzzles under the angle of his jaw. Brett likes his neck, Eddy knows this, he's never even teased him properly for it, so there's no surprise that when his adam's apple bobs with his moaning, catches Brett's hovering mouth by mistake, he starts shaking whole-bodied. Only satisfaction, unselfish pride of a sort. 

Eddy can't not laugh at it, a short innocent thing that he eats whole the second Brett's hand on his dick softens, starts tracing him through his jeans, petting lightly. 

'If you buckle up I'm gonna stop,' but his fingers on Eddy's nape tremble, wet with want, and his eyes are wide, and his chest stutters through his panting. Eddy thinks _if you could stay like this, for me_ , forces himself relaxed, kisses the tip of his nose. 

Kisses him fully, messy, because Brett needs it when he gets like this, and Eddy's very much into licking over his teeth, over the roof of his mouth, wide around his lower lip. He knows he's doing well from the keening noise he pries out of Brett's throat. He's so far gone that he forgets he was supposed to edge Eddy on, and begins to jerk him off properly, through the clothes, he puts his weight into it.

Eddy could come just like that, tight against his fly, with Brett straining his back to reach for his kisses. Almost wants to, when there's fingers straying by his lips, and he figures he'd like to last maybe.

Brett is melting too soon, rag-doll soft, feeding on Eddy's pleasure, he doesn't resist at all his hand being removed, and his legs being pushed open wide so that Eddy can fit between, on his knees. He won't break their slow kissing. Dumbass that he is, not letting go of Eddy's mouth, somehow already fucked out enough that he doesn't _notice_.

Eddy hasn't even touched him yet. 

Brett bites him, whines out his name, so Eddy won't look away, can't, but he knows his way around Brett's jeans easily enough by touch. Only closes his eyes to swallow him down, because he wants to taste this, wants to _hear_ it.

Brett gasps, half chokes on his own spit and he bends cleanly in half, cradling Eddy's head to him, not pushing just-

Just holding, as he shudders through it, running his shaky fingers through his hair. Presses his thumb to his cheek, then further, to the place where Eddy's mouth is wrapped around his skin. Eddy lets him get used to it, because he's nice like that, sits down properly and curls his arms around his waist, holds him down the way he won't ask for .

It's not comfortable blowing him off, but Brett is sweating with the effort of keeping still and Eddy likes this, the taste and the texture, and the illegal noise he gets out of him. And he's learned how to do this, it's warm almost, to map out the veins with his tongue, to watch Brett's lower belly tense up as he sucks shallow on the tip. There's power in it, in a roundabout way, when Brett is this pliant, and so needy, and so goddamn pretty. He wants to drag this out as much as he can, wants Brett naked, pressed to his body, on the edge of coming, for the rest of his life, screaming and crying from too much good.

He's maybe a bit too transparent, because between shivering and pushing fingers into his own mouth, Brett starts fidgeting with the pick, to distract himself. Eddy hates his brain sometimes. _pp_ rises unbidden in his mind, he laughs, hopes to keep it down, fails and chokes terribly. He wonders how all that might feel to Brett. 

Brett, who yanks him up in a panic, off his dick, by the back of his neck, absolutely terrified and Eddy has to bodily hold him down from running off to get him water. He keeps laughing through the coughing, throat raw, while Brett strokes the side of face, pushes a bit on his slick lips with his fingers when he figures Eddy's probably alright.

'What happened, dude. You gave a worry, god.'

Eddy's gonna get his ass kicked. It's still worth it. He takes deep breaths, steadies himself so he can look him in the eye, so he can say it at least half seriously.

'Your _pp_ is too big.'

Eddy wraps a hand around Brett's dick then out of genuine worry he might lose his boner. He looks so put out. It's funny, because it almost feels like he's using that grip for support, while he continues to shake with dumb, hysterical laughter.

'I hate you, why must I think of Davie out of all people when you-... when my dick is-... when- ugh fuck, you suck so bad.'

Eddy loses it worse still, wheezes out a cocky 'I thought I was doing pretty nice, hey?' It's the wrong move. Brett gets him by the hair, close to his scalp, just tightens his fist. Pushes his foot softly between his legs. 

Eddy's eyes roll all the way back, he latches on his wrist, _yesyesfucklikethat_. There's no space for words in between his moaning, but his mouth feels empty still. It might be good for Brett, to feel the vibrations directly on his skin.

It occurs to him belatedly that everything is wet with his spit, he's going to be so grossed out later, but for now. Brett won't pull at his hair, not really, so Eddy strains against his hand, tries to get back to his lap, and it edges carefully on proper pain. He leaves his tongue relaxed, licks up wide stripes on his dick, slow, until Brett's tension leeches out of him. Mostly drools uncoordinated over him. It's not only his spit anymore, too unclear, but if he thinks of that, he's gonna get Brett off violently, in about 10 seconds, then bend him over the table and fuck him senseless, and yes, that'd be nice, but it's not what he's trying to _achieve_ right now. He wants to make it good, and it's enough, how Brett's foot presses down on him, he can live with this.

Brett, it turns out, absolutely can't. His voice goes one tone deeper when he says 'Eddy, Eddy, fuck, come here love,' doesn't wait for him to gather up his brain, just picks him up from under his arms, solidly so it won't tickle, and gets him to his feet. Sticks his head under Eddy's hoodie so he can kiss and bite at that new bit of fat low on his abdomen, while he unzips his jeans.

Eddy still shrieks when there's a tongue pushing into his bellybutton, but he can't say he didn't see it coming, mean little shit that Brett is, burning up when Eddy settles in his lap, sneaking one hand in his pants to grab a handful of Eddy's ass.

He loses control then, staring down at the open need in Brett's face. Eddy would be inclined to look down to where their dicks drag over each other, frantic, the slight difference in size, but there's that deep line between Brett's eyebrows and he's kissing blindly at Eddy's chin, and Eddy wants to eat those whimpers straight from his mouth.

Cranes his head back, pushes his neck between Brett's open lips by himself, because he might not remember anymore, what he needs, but Eddy does. He doesn't even have to move at all, with how Brett manhandles him forward, rhythmically, his grip bruising on his hip, against his butt. It's as good a place as any to leave fingerprints when they need to be careful of it.

Brett mumbles dumb shit against his throat, jaw tight with the urge to bite, Eddy barely catches _my half_ , and _I love you, god_ , and _anything for you, mine_ mixed in colorful swearing, filthy, filthy words bleeding into his skin ( _slut, needyoutofuckme, come for me_ , spelled out slowly, so that Eddy hears).

Eddy can't refuse him anything.

So he closes a hand around them both, around Brett's smaller fist, tighter than Brett likes, but it's alright, he'll follow if Eddy tips off first, he always does, and it doesn't take long then. Eddy could count it down, how it builds low in his spine, unwinds familiarly, to his fingertips, making his toes curl.

Brett kisses him.

Brett kisses him wet, sort of just sucks Eddy's tongue inside his scalding mouth, a surprised sound in the back of his throat, slightly grossed out.

Laughter bubbles up behind Eddy's sternum and he manages to get out 'Did you forget I sucked your dick just now?' just in time.

Brett kisses him still, through his whining as he comes, it feels too much, like maybe he forgot how this goes, like maybe this belongs to the mouth pressed to his, to the body in his arms.

It might, Brett breathes out _yes_ , hissed sharply against his teeth, and Eddy feels that edge again, harder still somehow, foreign. White-hot, like a brand, he can't breathe. Brett is squeezing him to his chest desperately, there's no space for his rib cage to expand, between Brett's heart and the hands at his back. 

He's let go incrementally after a while, and Eddy clings closer. 

'Yeah, I forgot. But that's alright.' 

Brett's fringe over his forehead is wet, but his grin is dripping smugness.

'Still want me to fuck you?' Because Eddy's sated for now, but it's something to think about, in a bit, when he doesn't feel liquid anymore. 

'Hell yeah. Can we eat in the meantime? Ah, did you notice you almost tipped back the chair on that last bit?' 

'Did you notice I have a big fucking thing for you playing string instruments?' Eddy bites back, hopeful lilt to his voice. 

Half sure Brett would maybe indulge him. If Eddy were to admit, he knows he's a spoiled brat, when he allows himself. Doesn't mean it's less fun to ask and see Brett's pupils double in width.

His face is way too serious for anything nice to come out of his mouth though, but Eddy thinks this fun as well.

'I'll play you Hungarian Dance No.5 on the bass, hmm? Also, it's hot when you're trying to flex.' Which is all the time, he means, doesn't need to say it for Eddy to hear it. 

And Eddy laughs, because really, he should've seen this coming. Leans down to knock his teeth against Brett's smile.

**Author's Note:**

> what? me popping up with nothing but explicit stuff because there's a lull in my exams? with 2 series unfinished? haha, i could never, it's not like the recent videos and the merch drops are driving me up the wall. that porn without plot tag felt like stepping into the void.
> 
> catch you later with nice, properly romantic fics (and not only). hope you're well.


End file.
